


I'm a Goner.

by falloutmoose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Dark Character, Death, F/M, Gore, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:06:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8959954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falloutmoose/pseuds/falloutmoose
Summary: Sammy is kidnapped: learning who and why they did it proves to be catastrophic.





	

Breathing. Heavy breathing. Coupled with a few whimpers and the added sound of her footsteps as she ran away, ran as fast as her tiring legs could carry her. This was all she could hear at that very moment. Her heartbeat thumping deafeningly loud in her ears only added to her anxiety, her panic, her fear. Eventually, though, she stopped running, she didn't want too but she had too, coming to a slow jog then a walk until she collapsed to her knees. Her chest hurt from the sharp intakes of breath she needed in order to live. Her eyes, once squeezed shut as her knees hit the pathway littered with leaves and sticks and other debris, fluttered open to assess her surroundings. She was lost, she knew it.  
Slowly rising to her feet still breathing hard, her eyes darted from side to side as she circled slowly. Sticking to her face were strands of her dark hair, glued to her flesh with sweat as the breeze picked up around her. The noise of crickets chirping in the vast blackness now drowned out by the rustle of leaves. 'Shit' she spoke to herself when her phone bleeped loudly in her pocket, of course the battery was running out, of course this was happening to her while she was lost and stranded in the night-time company of these woods.  
It was then, when her mind was lost in trying to send an SOS text message to a friend before the battery drained completely, was she grabbed from behind. Two strong arms around her, one over her stomach, and the other around her neck, a dirty rag clamped over her mouth, muffling any cries and screams for help until her eyes felt heavy, falling closed within minutes. Now, in the spot that she once stood was her phone, the unsent text message fading away as the batteries life gave up whatever juice it had and switched off. Complete darkness falling upon the woods once more.

x.x.x.x.x

Samantha groaned, her throat burning when bile rose at the smell that hit her senses. Somewhere between burning flesh and the copper tang of blood. As it turned out, her senses weren't wrong. A pipe leaking water a few drops here and there added to the overall damp and dankness of the small, cell like room she had just woke up in. The water splashed in a small puddle that was black in colour but dashed with a rainbow from grease? Petrol? She wasn't sure. Her wrists burned and the skin was rubbed raw almost immediately as soon as she began to panic and fight against the rope wrapped tightly around them, the concrete floor scraped her bare feet, slime from the algae growing on the damp walls and dirt clung to her body.

“Ah, sleeping beauty has finally woken. Welcome back.” A voice echoed from outside the strong steel door in front of her. Samantha scrambled back, heart pounding and her back colliding with the stone wall. “Ah, ah, there's really no sense in trying to get away, Sammy.”  
“Who are you?!” Her voice hurt her burning throat and her eyes squinted, the fog in her mind made it hard to decipher who the owner of the gravelly voice was. Some ideas came to her, like she'd heard the voice before and the way they called her 'Sammy' was something very familiar but of course she couldn't quite piece it together.  
“Let's not worry about that right now, huh? You must be hungry.” The screeching of rusty metal on metal pierced through Samantha's throbbing head, her tired eyes blinking heavily at the tray that was pushed through the flap at the base of the door. The mysterious voice was right, she was hungry, starving in fact, it had been a day or so since she'd last eaten. As quick as she could, she shuffled weakly towards the food but stop when she saw what was on offer. A simple sandwich but with bread dappled with mould and some kind of meat, beef maybe? Pork? Maybe even some kind of uncooked chicken? Samantha shook her head, her nose wrinkling in disgust.  
“I'm not eating that.” She protested.  
“You will, you did yesterday.”  
“Yesterday?” Again her nose wrinkled and her eyebrows furrowed. “H-how long have I been here?”  
“I've already told you that.” The mysterious voice answered. “Now eat. I'll be back later.”

Samantha looked at the tray with the vile sandwich on it as if it would answer all her questions for her, but that was up to her mind if she could get it working again. She shook her head, shuffled back over the spot she'd woken up in and took a few deep breaths of the ripe smelling air around her. 'Yesterday' she repeated to herself. She had no recollection of this day, all she could remember were woods. 'The woods' again she spoke out loud to herself. 'I was grabbed. That was yesterday... wasn't it?' of course no answers came in reply. 'Or was it last week?' tears were forming in her eyes now from the frustration. How long had she really been locked away? All signs led towards the worse. Dirty clothes, hair knotted with dirt and dried blood, a bucket in the corner of the room filled with human waste of which she assumed and hoped it was just hers, the hope made it easier not to spill her stomach contents onto the floor from the thought alone. 'Longer than a week...' she deduced glumly. Her eyes fell on the sandwich again and her stomach growled loudly and painfully, if this was the only thing she'd be offered and if she had a chance to escape, she'd need her strength and this vile food could be the difference between life and death so with a groan she crawled back over to it.  
Despite her wrists being bound together, Samantha managed to pick the food up with her grubby hands and she unwillingly tucked into it, gagging with the first bite but swallowing it down. The meat filling was tangy, bitter almost, nothing like she'd ever tried before, or ever remembered trying before. She swallowed the last mouthful of food, looking around the room for a drink, or cup, or anything to quench her thirst but there wasn't anything. 'could've got me a drink too, asshole.' she grumbled, leaning against the wall with a frown and trying to think of her next move. 

Sometime over the next hour, Samantha's tired body gave in and she fell asleep, half an hour after that, she was being woken up by a sharp jerk of her body. She didn't have much time to process anything before she was pulled to her feet by the bounding on her wrists. Attached to that was another length of rope and holding that was her mystery assailant though Samantha couldn't see, the cloth sack over her head that had somehow been placed on her while she was asleep prevented that.  
She tried to fight against the restraints but this just resulted in her stumbling, falling to her knees and being dragged down the hallway, her knees, shins and feet becoming skinned by the stone floor.

“Hold still.” again the person spoke, making Samantha yelp in surprise but not making her stay still, her flight or fight instinct telling her that now was the opportunity to fight. She kicked out blindly, a couple of shots landing on the body of her attacker, but that was it before she was pushed into a chair forcefully. “There's really no sense in struggling, Sammy, I'm much stronger than you.”  
The rope restraining her wrists was cut, sliced through by a knife and before Samantha could react, her hands were pinned down onto the chairs armrests and thick leather straps were tightened over both arms in three places, the wrist, the forearm and the elbow. “Just relax, Sammy, this'll all be over... soon.” The sack was whipped off her head and she squinted in the light, the mystery person was standing in front of her and as the blur lifted, Samantha saw who it was, answering why their voice was so familiar.  
“Michael...” her voice was barely a whisper as she stared at her ex boyfriend, who she hasn't seen since she broke things off with him, admittedly to be with someone else who she had fallen for whilst still with Michael, however she never acted upon it until she ended things. Michael smirked, giving a wink.  
“Heya there, Sammy. Surprised?”  
“Why are you doing this to me? Just... just let me go...” 

Rolling his eyes, Michael moved away from the chair, his hand reaching for a metal trolley, wheeling it into the room closer to the chair. His fingers caressed some of the objects, knives, corkscrews, pins, salt, alcohol and bleach, and his eyes closed for a moment. 

“I can't do that, Sammy, I can't just 'let you go'. You know, I've tried. I've tried and tried but I couldn't just let you go.” He picked up a knife and turned to Samantha. In the blink of an eye he had the blade pressed against her cheek. “You hurt me. I never showed it, of course, why would I want to come off as the weak one, huh?”  
“I'm sorry.” Samantha sobbed. “I didn't want it to end like that but I couldn't lie to you, Michael. I couldn't hurt you!”  
“Hurt me?! You did exactly that, Sammy! Falling for that... that monster. I mean, I knew it was coming, as soon as you met him you changed. You... stopped caring. About me, about yourself. You put yourself in danger, you became more reckless.” Michael tilted his head as he nicked the skin on Samantha's cheek, blood trickled down her pale flesh and he smirked. “So pretty when you bleed for me, Sammy. So beautiful.”  
“Stop.” she pleaded. “This isn't you, Michael.”  
“Oh, you have no idea, Sammy. This /is/ me. This is what /you/ made me.” Michael grabbed her chin and stared down at her for a few long moments. “Let's make things a little more interesting, huh? I'll be right back.”

Samantha closed her eyes and took a breath to try and ease the sharp intakes her body was forcing her to take from the panic in her. Michael had disappeared by the time she opened them again and looking around the room she whimpered. The chair she was sat in was wooden, old, and above her was a metal cap fixed to some wires. Her eyes squinted as she began to piece together her location. Looking around the room again, her gaze was captured by another piece of battered old furniture. More of a dentist chair, than an armchair like the one she was sat in. Fake leather, obviously, but recline-able and incredibly grimy. Her thoughts were derailed by the opening of the door, another person was pushed into the room, a sack over their head just like Samantha had. The person fell onto the other chair, guided by Michael, who locked and bolted the door.

“Alright, now it's just getting fun, huh? You have company, Sammy.” Michael grinned, the very thing Samantha used to love way back when, now made her sick to her stomach. Watching in silence as he restrained the struggling person, and her eyes widened in shock when the sack was ripped off their head. Tied up, with tape over his mouth was Dean, her husband. With worried eyes, he looked at Samantha, confusion more than noticeable at that very moment.

“Let him go, Michael, I swear to god I'll kill you!” Samantha struggled against the rope, the friction causing it to burn her wrists again but she didn't care.  
“You've always liked him more, haven't you?” Michael twirled a knife around in his hand. “Since you first met him, you knew we wouldn't last, didn't you?”  
“So this is what this is about?”  
“Answer me! Didn't you?!”  
“No...No, it's not like that Michael. It was never like that. I fell for him, we have more in common than you and I ever did.”  
“Fucking bitch!” Michael raised his fist and landed a punch on her face, splitting her lip. Samantha whimpered spitting out blood, Dean struggled in his chair, desperate to get to his wife and defend her but there was no chance of that. Michael hit her again and again and didn't stop until her eye was swollen and her face was split in several places, blood dripping onto the floor.  
“Stop...” her voice was weak, hoarse.  
“I can't do that, Sammy. I just can't.” he tilts his head, his hand caressing Samantha's swollen face as their eyes meet. “Although, I am a sucker for a pretty face. I mean yours will never look the same once I'm done, but it was pretty before so maybe I'll stop. On you anyway.” Michael turned on his heel and looked at Dean. “Now you... you've always had the kinda face I want to punch.” With that, Michael raised his fist again, clocking Dean in the face, his nose crunching under it. Dean groaned, his eyes squinted. Michael ripped the tape off his mouth, a small moment of humanity, so Dean could breathe.  
“Let Sambo go.” He gruffed.  
“Dean, Dean, Dean, if I was gonna do that I would've already, don'tcha think?”  
“She didn't do anything to you.”  
“Not alone, no. You had a hand in it too, don't forget.” Michael's hand reached behind him, his fingers wrapping around the grip of his gun that was tucked in the back of his jeans. Samantha saw the glint of the metal in the light and she choked on a bloody sob.  
“Don't...Michael, please don't do this.” She breathed, catching his attention. He pulled the gun out and waved it?”  
“Oh this? Why not. I mean, I could torture him like I will with you but I could just kill him straight away, make you watch as I shoot him in the heart, then the head.” He cocked the gun and aimed it at Dean. Dean straightened his body the best he could, blood from his nose trickling down into his mouth but no once did he act afraid.

“Do it. Do it if it makes you feel better. But let her go. She's suffered enough.” Dean's eyes looked over to his wife and a small sad smile crossed his lips. “You'll be okay without me, babe... You'll get through this.”  
“No... no I don't want to... I can't...”  
“Urgh, you two are sickening me.” Michael rolled his eyes, placing the gun down on the cart with the other implements of torture, where he then picked up a couple of pins. He pursed his lips, casting his eyes back to Dean. “Do you know what it's like to get your heart broken, Dean? Oh wait, you do.” He chuckled. “Hael, I always forget about little Hael. Your first love. The one before Sammy.” Making Dean straighten his fingers with his own hand, Michael pressed a pin into his index finger, between the flesh and fingernail. Dean gritted his teeth, his eyes squeezing shut. “It hurts, doesn't it. Getting your heart stomped on by some bitch, I mean, not this-” He pushed another pin into his middle finger this time, between the flesh and fingernail but deeper this time. “I know /this/ hurts.”  
“Michael, stop.” Samantha coughed.  
“Shut up, whore.” He spat. “I'm not stopping until one of you is dead. Or both, I haven't quite decided yet.”

x.x.x.x.x

An hour had passed, and hour of torture, beatings for both Samantha and Dean. Lifting a bottle of bleach into his hands, Michael smirked in Samantha's direction, his eyes raking over her body like she was just a piece of meat to him, in a way she was. He leaned down, his face close to hers, breathing in the salty tang of her sweat mixed with the unmistakable scent of her. Pure Sammy. Like coffee and cinnamon.

“Sammy, I love it when you beg, you know that. So hows about we have you beg, huh? Beg for your life. C'mon, baby, beg. Beg so pretty for me.” Michael's lips brushed against Samantha's dry chapped and bloodstained lips, she tried to pull away, tried to move her head but he held it in place. “Nuhuh, Sammy, let's not be a cock tease now.” He tipped the bottle up, the liquid bleach pouring out over Samantha's arm, seeping into the deep slices in her flesh. She screamed out, rousing Dean from his unconsciousness.  
“Sammy! Sammy hold on baby.”  
“You hear that, Sammy, your hubby has woken up again.” Michael didn't even look over at him. “Let's let him watch, huh?” With that, Michael pressed his lips to Samantha's, forcing her to kiss him, his tongue tasting her mouth, humming at the metallic taste of blood.  
“Get off her!” Dean yelled. Michael, of course, ignored him, chuckling deeply and plunging a knife into Samantha's shoulder, followed by a generous amount of bleach which seemed to sizzle and burn the flesh. Blackness fell upon Samantha by this time, to exhausted to take the pain any more so her body shut down. 

Michael sighed, pouting. “Oh, I think I broke her.” he shrugged, dropping the blade onto he lap. “She was always weak.” He turned to Dean, picking up a corkscrew and the gun. “Which one would you prefer, now?”  
“Bite me.” Dean growled.  
“Sorry, I don't swing that way. Now if your darling Sammy had said that, I'd be all too happy to bite her. Mmm, she's just so... yummy. Of course, you know that. You did steal her from me.”  
“I didn't steal her, you sorry sack of shit! She fell for me, I fell for her. She didn't cheat on you! She could've, so many times. The time she was stripping for me in the basement when I crashed at her cabin? Remember that? Fuck, Michael, she got me going good, the way she danced. The way her soft skin felt beneath my fingers. The way her breath felt warm on my lips.” Dean's eyes met Michael's, a heavy sense of seriousness fell in the room. “I could've taken advantage of it. Hell, we both wanted it, but we didn't. We didn't because of you. She didn't want to hurt you.”  
“Well she did!” Michael screamed, a string of saliva hit Dean's cheek as the other man yelled. “She hurt me. You both did!”  
“Boo-fucking-hoo. I always knew you were a psychotic dick.”  
“I'm not psychotic. I have to make you pay. You go around thinking you're the greatest shit since sliced bread. Thinking you're all that. But you're not, Dean. You're an ape, a bug. An inconvenience.”  
“So kill me.” Dean's teeth gritted. “End this, get your kicks.”  
“I plan too.”

Michael cocked the gun again, aiming it at Dean's head. “See, the difference between you and I, Dean, is that I get what I want.”  
“I got Sammy, so I'd say we're not that much dissimilar.”  
“Shut up. Just shut the fuck up.” Michael's hand shook, the gun wobbling in his hand as he pointed it at the man in the chair.  
“What's wrong, Michael?” Dean coughed, spitting out some blood but unable to make an attempt to spit it away from himself, only letting it drip onto his already bloodied shirt. “Can't keep it up? Maybe that's why she left ya. Can't follow through. Can't fire your load.” Dean made it sound as vulgar as possible, his eyes momentarily flicking towards Samantha.  
“Laugh it up, Dean.” Michael shook his head. “I'm gonna enjoy this.”

His arms steadied, his finger squeezing the trigger but before the shot could fire out, a blade was rammed through his back, the tip of it protruding out of his chest around where his heart is. This knocked his aim off and the bullet ricocheted off the broken strip lighting in the room. Behind him, Samantha stood weakly, twisting the blade through Michael. 

“See you in hell.” She growled as Michael fell to his knees, blood pouring out his mouth and where the blade penetrated him. Samantha walked around in front of him, despite her bruised, bloody and broken body, she mustered up enough strength to push him over, his dying body falling and crashing into the cart of torture devices. 

x.x.x.x.x

The crash was loud, plates smashed and trays broke, sending an echo throughout the room Samantha was sat in. Her eyes were glassed over, vacant, and she flinched. Across the table from her sat Dean, his hands cupped around hers and his thumb rubbing the back of her hand. 

“It's okay. One of the orderlies just bumped into the food cart.” He tried to soothe her, but her body began shaking. Dean knew comfort wouldn't be achieved now.  
“No. no. no. No Dean, he's here. He'll get me.”  
“He's dead, baby. He's not gonna hurt you any more.”  
“He's gonna get me. He's gonna get me. He'll kill us.” Samantha repeated, hugging her knees to her chest.  
Dean sighed. “I'll get Dr Curtis.” He stood, walking over to the small desk by the door. “Doctor... She's having another episode.” The doctor looked up, she sighs and nods.  
“It's been happening more recently. The only option we have is to up her medication again.”  
“She's a zombie already... is that really the only option?”  
“I'm afraid so... she suffered pretty extensive mental trauma, Dean. The things she's said in therapy, I've never heard of such abuse.”  
“Yeah, he did a number on her.”  
“On both of you.”  
“Don't worry about me. She's the main priority now. We need to get her better...”

x.x.x.x.x

Samantha lifted her head, tears stained her cheeks, her eyes were bloodshot and her skin was almost grey in colour. Sleep had eluded her for weeks, visions of the torture Michael put her through haunting her every chance they had, she got maybe two or three hours every couple days.

“Samantha... you're not sleeping well still, are you?”  
“I want Dean. Get Dean.”  
“Dean isn't here, Samantha. Do you know where you are?”  
“I want my husband.”  
“Samantha... you attended Dean's funeral three months ago. Do you remember?”

Samantha's eyes fluttered, a single tear trickled down her cheek. She looked at the person in front of her, the clipboard in her hands reading “Roseland Mental Hospital”. She swallowed thickly, her tongue flicking over her lower lip and her eyes met the doctors and with a shaky, barely audible voice, Samantha spoke only two words.

“I remember.”


End file.
